


A Dash of Salt

by spicedrobot



Series: Spicy Drabbles [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AND FINALLY ASK TO TAG IF I MISSED ANYTHING SMH, Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Talon, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Alternate Universe - Western, Anal Fingering, Analingus, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Genji Shimada, Bottom Hanzo Shimada, Bottom Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Bottom Roadhog | Mako Rutledge, Bottom Tekhartha Zenyatta, Dirty Talk, Edgeplay, Face-Sitting, Frottage, Homestuck References, Human Zenyatta, Intercrural Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Moresomes, NSFW Art, Oni Genji Shimada, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Pining, Prostate Massage, Reversewatch, Rough Sex, Sanzang Zenyatta, Semi-Public Sex, Size Difference, Tongue Piercings, Top Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu, Top Jesse McCree, Top Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Top Tekhartha Zenyatta, Trans Character, Trans Genji Shimada, Trans Male Character, Valve Plugs (Transformers), Virginity Kink, Young Hanzo Shimada, Young Jesse McCree, buddy cop, quid pro quo, wireplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 08:36:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 9,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16869700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicedrobot/pseuds/spicedrobot
Summary: Since tumblr shit its pants, it's time to back-up my microfills and drabbles! Mostly NSFW with warnings at the start of each chapter.





	1. McHanzo, analingus, face-sitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: McHanzo, (Top!MCcree, Bottom!Hanzo)  
> Warnings: analingus, face-sitting

“Has anyone ever gone down on you?” His breath, warm with the faint scent of tobacco, ghosts over Hanzo’s cheek.

He should never have let a stranger so close, but this cocky foreigner with his drawl and wide, lopsided smile steals his restraint, makes him feel wild and free for the first time in his life.

“What business is that of yours?” Hanzo bites back, even as Jesse chuckles, brushing his bangs behind the ear that he had so arrogantly whispered into. 

He hates the way he has to look up to see Jesse grin, how easy it is for him to look so unabashed and cocky. Like he owns him. Like Hanzo would do anything.

Hanzo slips from between the cowboy and the wall, taking a few steps down the hallway before glancing over his shoulder.

“Well? You were about to regale me with your technique, correct?”

And this is where Jesse stumbles, flushing beneath his scruff and the bill of his hat.

“Yeah, o’ course. Right now?”

“While I am still feeling generous.”

* * *

By the time Jesse makes good on his words, he’s naked, sweaty and vermilion from head to toe. Hanzo gives Jesse’s cock a perfunctory squeeze before tossing a leg across his shoulders, cock slapping without pretense against Jesse’s cheek. Hanzo tugs his gi out of the way to get a better look, still mostly clothed while Jesse struggles to stay still beneath him.

Hanzo ignores how hard he is himself, how much he wants to bump the head of his cock and let Jesse suckle its tip until he brings himself off over that salacious, gasping mouth. Instead, he shifts forward that last inch to settle his ass against Jesse’s face. The man groans, a sound Hanzo echoes when the first hot drag of his tongue catches against him.

Jesse wasn’t wrong: Hanzo hasn’t ever allowed anyone to touch him there. He catches his lower lip between his teeth as Jesse laps against him, softly at first, then more deliberately, desperately. Hanzo cups his hand over his mouth to stop a pathetic whine as that clever tongue begins to dip inside. Had he always been so sensitive? He stares down his body as he gasps, his cock a fat, angry red that drips into the cowboy’s messy hair.

One of Jesse’s calloused hands slips beneath his robe, clutching the meat of his thigh as he whines into his body, and Hanzo sees stars for a few, harrowing seconds.

He goes still, trembling on the strangest precipice, like a cresting orgasm perhaps, but deep, a sinful ember inside his awakened body.

When he gathers the vestiges of his discipline, Hanzo rocks down to meet the gentle, sloppy thrusts of Jesse’s tongue, the cowboy’s labored breathing muffled by his balls, drawn tight and needy.

“Don’t touch yourself.”  Hanzo says, though it comes out little more than a groan.

Jesse’s other hand finally slides into view, and Hanzo cannot contain his harsh bark of laughter as the cowboy gives him a shaky thumbs up.


	2. McReyes, virginity kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: McReyes (Top!McCree/Bottom!Reyes)  
> Warnings: fingering, prostate massage, virginity kink

****“You ever done this before?”

Gabe averts his eyes at the question.

“Don’t be ridiculous, McCree.”

“Y’know, it’s okay if you haven’t.” Jesse says, fighting his every inclination to smile and tease.

For what it’s worth, Gabe’s good at hiding it. He holds his huge, muscled thighs open with a hand clutched behind each knee like he’s done it hundreds of times before.

“So tight.” Jesse coos as he presses a second finger alongside the first, and Gabe shivers and growls against it. “Jus’ relax.”

Jesse watches Gabe’s face carefully as he barely grazes his prostate. His commander’s brow stays pinched, lips twisted into a slight frown. He doesn’t shift to grind that sweet spot against Jesse’s questing fingers, and that’s his give, clear as day. Gabe’s cock is only just chubbed, mostly soft and resting along his balls.

Jesse should go easy on him. They’ve both just returned from a harrowing mission, and the soft buzz of a whiskey neat has his bed calling to him like an old lover.

However, this new lover is too tantalizing to be ignored.

“You don’t seem enthused. You sure you don’t want to top?”

The way Gabe colors high on his cheeks is so endearing that Jesse can’t help but smile.

“No, I want to…I’m just not that sens–”

Jesse curls his fingers, and Gabe’s eyes and mouth round so sweetly, a look of pure confusion Jesse’s never seen on his face before. He does it again, and again, and Gabe’s whole body flexes, dark nipples peaking, toes curling, his hands tugging his knees that much higher.

“Right there? It ain’t too much?”

Jesse’s smiling so hard his face hurts, but the full glower never returns to Gabe’s face. His brows draw low, but his mouth hangs open on soft, wispy exhalations.

“Y-yeah. J-just how I like it.”

“Of course.” Jesse hums, cupping Gabe’s thigh, feeling his heat and coarse hair, watching Gabe’s cock twitch and thicken the longer he gently grinds the pads of his fingers just inside, nice and easy.

Would Gabe go just as sweet on three fingers? On his own cock, ignored and needy, dampening his underwear? He’s not sure he minds so much, not when Gabe’s stomach contracts, terse and fluttering, his cockhead just emerged from silky foreskin, shined at the tip. God, he wants it, but he wants Gabe’s pleasure more, to have him come on his fingers, experience how good his ass could feel, how good Jesse could make him feel.

How good his first time could feel.


	3. Genyatta, oral, tongue piercing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Genyatta, (Top!Human!Zenyatta/Bottom!Genji)  
> Warnings: trans genji (the word cock used, no penetration), oral, vibrating tongue piercing

****“You know…I am very good with my tongue.”

The way Zenyatta says it, offhandedly as he takes a demure sip of tea, makes Genji snort.

The shambali are a boring lot, traveling and preaching when most people won’t give them the time of day. The monks only offer humble bows to the young Shimada heir in passing, grateful for being hosted by such a generous family, but else they leave him well enough alone.

All but Zenyatta.

He’s the youngest of the Shambali by a decade or so, a man with mischief in his eyes. He speaks politely, when company demands it. Else, he’s a coy, curious distraction persistently at Genji’s side.

Zenyatta’s words are interesting. Another game, perhaps. Genji likes those.

“I doubt it’s anything to write home about.” Genji says with an air of indifference, even though the idea of Zenyatta buried between his thighs has crossed his mind more than once. _Way_ more than once.

“Do you wish to find out?”

* * *

“T-that’s cheating… _Fuck_ …” Genji whines.

Zenyatta chuckles into the shallow divot of his hipbone. He has a warm hand on each thigh, applying light pressure to keep Genji spread, even as Genji struggles not to draw them together. His cock _throbs_ , emerged from the thatch of black curls, already soaked from Zenyatta’s mouth.

“Oh? Were there rules?”

Zenyatta’s soft words curl up his spine, and Genji can’t drag his eyes away from him. With each syllable spoken, he can see that clever tongue and the whisper of gold centered upon it.

Genji’s retort dies as Zenyatta descends upon him, gently lapping his cock, the faintest press of his tongue piercing catching against the most sensitive part of him. Zenyatta is a tease in both words and action. Each time Genji’s pleasure grows, a rhythm established, his thighs flexing, toes curling, the monk lets off him, kissing his skin, worshipping him more than getting him off. Genji didn’t know he’d be so into it, balanced on the precipice and needy enough to beg.

“You’re so hard.” Zenyatta murmurs, one hand sliding inward, teasing the underside of his cock, slick and shined with saliva. Even this small touch makes Genji groan and throw his head back.

“C’mon. Please, Zen.”

Genji angles his hips into the touch, but Zenyatta moves his hand out of reach, and Genji collapses angrily against the mattress.

“Patience.”

Genji fists his hands into the sheets with a huff, fighting the urge to grab Zenyatta’s head and force him down, fuck his mouth until his lips are swollen and used, until the monk’s eyes go glassy and he can’t remember anything but his native tongue.

Instead, he lets Zenyatta continue to suckle, never quite drawing Genji into his mouth, once or twice pressing the quiet vibrations of his piercing against his cock, drawing him closer, closer to the brink, but never letting him fall.

Finally, finally, with tears balanced in Genji’s eyes, Zenyatta takes his cock with a few gentle sucks, lips buried against him, that tongue fluttering along the underside of it.

And it’s enough, enough, Genji yelling as he comes so hard it almost hurts. Zenyatta’s tongue never stops stroking him, not until Genji paws at his shaven head, not until Genji sees the look on the monk’s face.

Pleased. Knowing. Undeniably wanting.


	4. Reapzenji, dom/sub, edging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Reapzenji, (Top!Reaper/Bottom!Genji/Top!Zenyatta)  
> Warnings: light dombsub, edging, anal fingering

 

* * *

“N-Not there… !” Genji whimpers into the pillow, even as he shifts back against the claws teasing between his cheeks.

His voice is raspy, free of the modulated tone of his helmet, armor and plating stripped bare, a feast for hungry eyes and sensors.

“There is no need to feel shy, Genji.”

His peach-soft hole quickly slickens beneath Gabe’s smoky touch, the rounded curve of his claw grazing delicate flesh. Careful, so careful not to hurt him, but the thrill is there, a scant inch from what little is left of Genji’s original body.

“Oh, he’s none too shy. Right, Shimada?”

Gabe sounds so different than Before, the tenor familiar but never so intimate as it is now. Genji shivers and spreads his thighs that much wider, flushed along his neck and cheeks, in the delectable patches of warm skin, dewed so soon with sweat. His cock follows the curve of his stomach, so close to the sheets but not, and oh, how he wants to grind into them, debase himself in front of master and commander, but he wants to be good, so good.

He finally stills as the claw disperses, pressure released like the shifting of a storm, leaving only large, blunt presses dipping just inside his ass, testing its give.

“Should I wait until he begs?” Gabe murmurs, as dark as the wraith he houses inside him.

Zenyatta cards his servos through Genji’s hair, and his student relaxes, boneless against the bed. Gabe wiggles a finger in without resistance, biting back his own swear at how warm and giving Genji is, how sensitive even though he’s two-thirds metal. It’s frightening how much he makes Gabe want when he’s little more than a ghost, memories and pain the only thing maintaining his form, that and the idea he might stuff this wild, needy thing with the likeness of his once human cock.

“Such a strict commander. No wonder you required something more.” Zenyatta sighs coyly, even as Gabe clicks his tongue and folds over the man beneath him, butting his cock against the barely prepared clutch of Genji’s body.

“N-not yet…more…”

“Hmph. So needy.”

Gabe rolls his shoulders, feeding Genji the rough memory of his fingers as Zenyatta moves to survey them. He slips a cool metal hand between Genji’s legs, drawing a single finger from leaking head to the tightened swell of his balls.

“Don’t come yet.” He chides, even as he begins to stroke, his own panel aching at the seams to Genji’s sweet grunts and pleas, to Gabe’s large, powerful form dripping ichor over metal and flesh alike as he ruts. “If you can hold it until you have pleased your commander properly, I shall fuck you too.” His array alternates, his low voice nearly sing song as Genji goes stock still, tension in every twitching muscle.

Zenyatta knows Genji will not be able to do it, especially when Gabe loses his patience and begins to feed him his cock. Genji spreads his cheeks for him with his trembling hands, and Zenyatta shifts just in time to watch his dearest student go cross-eyed and cherry red in the face.

Zenyatta knows he will not be able to do it, but it is so endearing that he tries.


	5. Roadyatta, frottage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Roadyatta, (Top!Zenyatta/Bottom!Roadhog)  
> Warnings: frottage, valve/cock for zen, slightest domsub, praise

“Do not hold back. I want to hear you.”

Zenyatta wishes, not for the first time, that he was large enough to reach Mako’s face from this position, that he could trace the scars and bone white scruff on his soft chin, brush his thick, messy hair out of his dark eyes. Comfort him as he should be.

As is, he can only offer soft words of praise as he drags his swollen valve along Mako’s cock. It’s large, cut, near purpled at its tip, curving along the bottommost slope of his trembling stomach. Mako’s much too big to fit inside him (and oh, has he tried), but Zenyatta’s nothing if not flexible.

Mako grunts, his breathing so much quieter without his mask, his face flushed pink, his large hands fisted into the blankets bracketing Zenyatta’s hips. Handing over his control. Letting Zenyatta take care of him.

“You are doing so well for me.” Zenyatta says, unable to keep the hot buzz of pleasure from his voice.

He’s been dragging, long and slow, over his cock, careful to keep himself abreast of his own wants, though it’s hard when he begins to shift more quickly, needing more of the man’s sounds. Long motions become short, quick ruts just along Mako’s glans, the fleshy texture a menace against Zenyatta’s body that sings and leaks at the sensation.

It’s his favorite, like this, able to see all of Mako, letting Mako witness in return how bright and glitchy his array becomes, how hard he gets, slick beading from his cock onto Mako’s stomach. His valve aches so sweetly, its sounds sloppy and loud as he drags, making each press so slick-smooth as he catches Mako’s cockhead along the too-small opening of it.

Mako hums deep in his chest, each grunt and groan shaking to the ends of his body. He’s beautiful like this, barely restrained wildness, but trying his best not to put his hands on Zenyatta and force his body faster. It’s an intoxicating thought, having a huge hand curl around the black column of his chassis, clenching his thighs together as much as he can while Mako fucks between him.

Perhaps someday, when Mako could trust himself to do it. For now, Zenyatta’s thrusts fumble, his synth popping as he quakes and moans. Mako’s thighs flex beneath him, his hips rocking up, catching against the apex of his valve, slipping forward to bump his cock against Zenyatta’s.

“Y-yes. Just so. Come for me.” Zenyatta manages, ashamed at his own lack of restraint, would sigh with relief if he wasn’t whimpering and fighting against his own too-close peak.

He _feels_ Mako come, his cock pulsing along his own swollen, primed body, and Zenyatta finally allows himself to curl forward and spill, a hot release of slick joining the thick ropes of cum between their bodies.

More time must pass than he realizes, for something warm and calloused brushes against his faceplate.

“Good?” Comes Mako’s voice, as rough as gravel, breathy still.

Zenyatta nuzzles into the man’s hand.

“Good.”


	6. Genyatta, intercrural, semi-public sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Genyatta (Top!Baihu!Genji/Bottom!Sanzang!Human!Zenyatta)  
> warnings: trans zenyatta (no penetration, cock/sex used), intercrural, mention of anal, oral and prosthetic use, semi-public sex

“No. Keep the curtains open.”

Zenyatta’s hands gingerly rest upon the embroidered fabric as he half-turns to look at his lover behind him. They are high within Baihu’s temple, but he can hear the devoted below, dining and conversing in the fading light of dusk.

The god presses flush to his back, naked, blood-warm and thrumming with power. Genji is hard against him, each drag of his cock felt acutely through his sheer white robe. His thick arms snake around Zenyatta’s stomach, pinning him where he stands as Genji’s lips find the spot beneath his ear, one he knows is sensitive, a most studious disciple of his lover’s body.

“Just like this.” He can barely understand with Genji’s insistent mouth making his knees weak and stomach clench with want; everything he does makes him yearn like none have ever managed. Already he drips between his thighs as Genji fishes a hand between them, angling his cock down, his other hand drawing Zenyatta’s robe up just enough to slot, aching and wet, between his thighs.

He goes quiet, so quiet, in Genji’s arms, groans locked in his throat. All one must do is glance towards the stars and they would see their god’s fat, ridged cock stuffed between his most pious’ legs. Each drag and pull slides smooth against his sex, and Zenyatta trembles at the memory of taking it, inch by inch, into that secretive space behind where he throbs, his front the one place Genji had promised never to claim.

 _Any way you will have me._ His god had murmured like a prayer.

And so Zenyatta pleases his god in any way _he_ pleases. Settled on his knees, mouth open for his engorged, otherworldly cock to spill upon his tongue. Claiming Genji with a harness specially made for him, his love as weak as a kitten while he swears and spills into the sheets, forced open on Zenyatta’s cock.

Like this, rough and messy, easily seen, he knows he will not last long. Genji bites at his pulsepoint, his steadily leaking cock making the motions loud and wet as he buries himself again and again. Would the sound alone draw attention?

Zenyatta tips his face into his collar bone, fingers twisted into the curtains, afraid to let go, afraid to look, especially as the pleasure heightens with each passing second.

“I want you on your back, after.” Zenyatta whispers hoarsely, and Genji chuckles into his neck, reddened with several indentations of his teeth.

“Anything for you.”


	7. Doomyatta, quid pro quo, fingering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Doomyatta (Top!Doomfist/Bottom!Zenyatta)  
> Warnings: quid pro quo, fingering, piv, valve for zen

****Their encounter happens like this: Zenyatta in a dark bar, private enough that the scent of tobacco and the lastest synthetic blends permeate the air. He wears a new faceplate, a yellow array of three lights and no slits to give him a genial face, a simple black tux; even his systems reroute through a VPN, undetectable by omnic and human alike. Doomfist the Successor, one Akande Ogundimu, sits directly in front of him at the bar.

He leans in before he speaks, words for only the omnic to hear.

“It is an honor to meet you off the battlefield, Tekhartha Zenyatta.”

For a moment, Zenyatta thinks he can lie. Then he reads the hardness in Akande’s eyes, the spikes in his aura. Certain. Undeniable.

“You are quite astute for a human.” The omnic says instead.

They speak carefully. Each is trapped beneath a veneer of calm, like they aren’t enemies, as if under different circumstances they wouldn’t be doing everything in their power to cause the downfall of the other.

Akande could blow his cover. Akande could kill him before backup could arrive.

Instead, he offers to help.

Zenyatta finishes his mission, collects the intel Overwatch so desperately needed, a job only he could do as an omnic, seen and not heard. He reports to Lena, tells her he has one last thing to finish up.

He turns off his comm.

* * *

Akande peels Zenyatta out of every inch of his three-piece suit, folding each section before kissing the delicate wires along his throat. He urges Zenyatta onto the plush mattress with gentle hands, one warm, one cool.

Zenyatta has done this before, but beneath his enemy, with soft, maneuvering touches and quiet praise, he feels a loss. Helpless, even as the man drags his organic fingers between his legs until Zenyatta is wet and aching, until he’s pushing into each touch, groans crackly and airy.

He braces himself when Akande tugs him gently to the edge of the mattress. The sound of a zipper, the deep, rumbling grunt as Akande grasps his own cock, the wet sound of it slapping against Zenyatta’s valve is maddening.

He burns as Akande feeds him inch after inch of his cock, embarrassingly prepared and ready, bottoming out with little more than a slap and the fire of Akande’s body flattening over his own. It’s too slow, too intimate. Zenyatta clutches his faceplate, blocking out the sights, the sounds, but it doesn’t block out the pleasure coursing through his body, the hot pop-burst of feedback that threatens logic and self-preservation.

The single moment of roughness: Akande tugging Zenyatta’s palm from his face.

“I want you to look at me when you cum.”

He kisses the heated metal of his hand, then bites the wires connecting wrist and arm. Zenyatta could not deny him even if he wanted to, lost in the moment when Akande bares down, rolls his hips fast, faster, each press flattening his body to his nub, firing pleasure through each and every synapse, over and over and _over_ until he _seizes_ with it, legs helplessly squeezing around Akande’s back as he hard resets on his cock.

Akande slows for an instant. Gives him a few moments to collect himself until his thrusts pick up, the wet slap of metal on skin on metal lost to him as the man murmurs his next words.

“Next time, I will have you in your true form.”


	8. Bastzen, wireplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: BastZen (Top!Zenyatta/Bottom!Bastion) I guess haha  
> Warning: wireplay

Orisa has Efi. Zenyatta has Genji.

Bastion has no one.

It is cruel to suffer unwanted solitude, especially when it concerns one so gentle as Bastion. The omnic finds delight in life’s wonders, large and small, and chirps happily at the other agents, even when they ignore the strange omnic that wears the face of an old enemy.

Whenever their paths cross, the monk makes certain to visit the older omnic. Zenyatta enjoys meditating nearby as Bastion tracks the path of his orbs and harmonizes with their tones. He maintenances Bastion when Torbjörn is away, oiling and buffing as their body requires.

There is little between them that is secret, and omnics do not feel shame to ask of things that might brighten the face of a human.

“Tell me, my friend. Has Torbjörn been performing extrasensory overloads?”

Bastion beeps negative, shoulders sagging.

“It does not technically qualify as maintenance, but they can enhance overall wellness.” Zenyatta’s array flares, remembering how his student had steamed when he had described their use and sensation. “I would like to perform yours, if you have been left wanting.”

Bastion tilts their head down and nods with a few happy chirps, leaning forward so Zenyatta can easily access the cords at the base of their neck. Their size makes it easy, his fingers slipping against ports and wires without worry of injuring his large friend.

There is something beautiful in how Bastion shivers, hulking and seemingly impenetrable, beneath the gentlest touch. Zenyatta traces their ports, sparks catching, bursting against his servos, the arced electricity signaling his own systems to online. Bastion whirs, synth hiccuping, clipped beeps and chirps already so desperate, especially when Zenyatta grasps the thick, gray cable, tugging once, not unlatching but close, teasing his free hand along the half-exposed sensor, thrumming with power.

Bastion jerks so hard they nearly jostle Zenyatta to the ground, but the omnic only laughs, low and a bit more affected that he cared to admit, easing his friend through a rather impressive overload, frame shivering and optical sensor flaring before it fades back to their normal, soft blue.

“Better?” Zenyatta asks, receiving a soft, affirmative beep. The monk offers a gasp of his own when Bastion’s humanoid hand slips between his thighs, cupping him curiously as he plants his faceplate into his friend’s chassis. “That is not necessary, my friend.”

More beeps. Zenyatta looks up at him, tilting his head.

“Well, I suppose if you would like to see it.”

Zenyatta wastes no time removing his pants, curious if Bastion will enjoy his more…organic method of overload.  


	9. Buncha Genyatta Microfills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Genyatta (in all flavors)  
> Warnings: at the beginning of each section

**Reverse AU (office sex, oral, valveplay)**

McCree doesn’t like to visit unannounced, but the matter is urgent. The door to Shimada’s office is slightly ajar, so he knocks and steps inside without waiting for an answer.

“Shimada, listen—“

A gold and white omnic sits serenely behind the dark-lacquered desk.

“Good evening, Mr. McCree.”

“Tekhartha, I didn’t expect…this is Shimada’s office, right?”

“It is.” The omnic replies, the orbs about his neck tight and dormant.

Tekhartha’s face never moves besides the flickering of his array, but still it feels like he’s leveling an icy glare at him, as if any small slight will mean his end.

“Is there something you require?”

“Well—is Shimada here?”

Tekhartha shifts his faceplate, as if surveying the room, then his focus lands on McCree once more.

“Right. I’ll come back later.”

Zenyatta’s facade breaks as soon as the leader of the Deadlock Gang slips the door closed behind him. His servos dig grooves into Genji’s mahogany desk, quaking and chirping as Genji swallows him to the hilt, stuffing four fingers inside his swollen valve with brutish abandon. He overloads, bent nearly in half in Genji’s seat, the lord of Shimada knelt between his thighs and swallowing every last drop while Zenyatta gushes around his fingers.

It’s only several moments later, when he can school his synth into something presentable, that he speaks.

“Hm. You waited for McCree to leave before doing that.”

Genji pulls off him, speaking while lines of slick still connect his swollen lips and Zenyatta’s cock.

“You just got shy when he came in. I wanted you to come while he looked on in horror.”

Zenyatta teases his fingers into Genji’s hair before twisting at its roots, mashing his face into his dripping valve.

“Put your mouth to better use, Shimada.”

* * *

**Demon AU (gen)**

The demon double takes when he appears within the circle, blinking owlishly at the omnic in front of him.

“I think there has been a mistake.”

Zenyatta hums with a gentle tilt of his head, wiping his chalk-dusted fingers on his yellow pants.

“Fascinating.” He remarks. “I did not know if the ritual would succeed.”

“This isn’t…this is not how it’s supposed to go.” The demon huffs, but even with fangs and bluster he is as dangerous as a kitten within the circle.

“Oh?”

“Well, for one thing. You’re supposed to be human. You know, one that can offer flesh, a soul, a virgin—”

“I am afraid I do not have any of those things.”

“I can understand—” He stumbles. “Wait. You’ve had—nevermind. Not the point.” The demon rubs the base of his horns, lips pursed.

“How did you do it?”

“I simply followed the instructions.”

“Obviously, but what did you offer?”

“Contemplation,” the omnic taps his chin. “Or perhaps entertainment.”

The demon stares.

“This lovely maiden dines upon leaves in place of meat. She labours each day spinning and weaving for the benefit of others. Who is she?”

“You…offered a riddle?”

“Several of them.”

“And it worked?”

“I do wonder…” Amusement tinges the omnic’s words. “While you think on it, will you help me organize my texts? I have offered to lend them out, but I cannot seem to find them amongst our library.”

The demon nods absently, mumbling to himself as Zenyatta allows him out of the circle.

“A maiden…meat…no leaves…spinning…”

By the time Genji guesses correctly, the texts have already been collected and lent. They celebrate with a cup of tea.

* * *

**Cultist AU (gen)**

The swordsman appears in the dead of night, burning with the glow of an ancient power. He slaughters all of his disciples in a matter of minutes.

His aura licks at him like a physical weight, but Zenyatta does not rise from where's he's kneeling in front of his altar.

“Stand and fight, beast.” The swordsman growls.

His orbs, rolling and twitching around his head, focus on the swordsman, though he does not look at him with his true eyes. Not yet.

“Do you not care that I slew every member of your cult?” His aura flares. “It’s over for you.”

Zenyatta’s tentacles twist beneath his throat, excited as their owner stands.

“You seem so sure. Tell me, swordsman, what else have you scried with blood and iron?”

The fight lasts only a few seconds.

The swordsman charges, but the cultist snaps his weapons like toys; his kasa flies from his head as the swordsman’s knocked onto the cold stone. The cultist is on him in an instant, metal servos pinning the swordsman’s hands at his ears. His tentacles twist, tugging at the metal of his jaw, tracing the delicate seams where iron meets flesh. The swordsman’s aura bristles in bright green scales, but the battle is lost, and he trembles beneath the soft, warm touch of the appendages’ caresses.

“Now what does the future hold for you?” The cultist’s cyan eyes are two embers in Genji’s vision, growing the longer he stares, overtaking everything as the voices of the damned scream in his mind.

***

At dawn, two figures leave the forsaken temple, the summons of the king tucked safely in the cultist’s robes.

* * *

**Highschool AU (gen)**

Zenyatta’s never been to a formal school, not until Mondatta decided to pack up their life and move to London, leaving everything Zenyatta’s ever known behind.

The worst thing is the staring: at the monastery, no one spared his wheelchair a second glance, but here they whisper and point. He wears his best smile, introducing himself warmly before moving to take his place among the class. Everyone seems to ignore him then, even as he attempts to greet his neighbor.

The teacher has her back to the class while she taps at the large screen, preparing for the lesson. Zenyatta asks the boy next to him his name and receives only a sigh in return.

“Hey. Switch me seats.” A deep, accented voice says from the row behind them. The boy next to Zenyatta goes pale and moves without a word.

The voice belongs to a boy with bright green hair. His lips and nose are pierced, and an intricate tattoo crawls up his neck and disappears beneath his large jacket.

“Zenyatta, right? Genji Shimada.” He extends his hand, nails meticulously painted black. His grip is warm and strong.

“Yes. Excuse my forwardness, but you have a very interesting look! Did the piercings hurt?”

“Nah, kinda felt good, y’know? My pain tolerance is pretty high.”

They chat until the teacher clears her throat and begins the class. Genji shows him around the rest of the day, even to classes they don’t share.

“Us outsiders should stick together,” Genji says, flushing when Zenyatta thanks him.

Mondatta gives Zenyatta a curious look when he sees the tall, green-haired boy rolling him to his car.

“You have made friends already…well, good.” Mondatta says.

“Indeed.” Zenyatta replies, waving to Genji as they pull away. He sighs, a small smile settling on his lips. “I love it here already.”

* * *

**Medieval AU (gen)**

His king gives too much.

Day after day, he sits upon the throne, listening to the problems of his people, offering solutions with soft words and a softer smile. It is only when the last visitor departs that his mask fades, replaced by bone-deep weariness that ages his youthful face too soon.

The tiredness of his king is a weight upon his own heart, heavier each passing day.

He can stand it no longer on the night that the hall empties and Zenyatta leans his face into his hand, shoulders trembling with sorrow.

His viridian cloak billows around him as he ascends the stairs to the throne in leaps, gathering the king into his arms. He cups the back of his king’s neck, pressing his face into the soft leather of his armor.

“Please, my king. You are killing yourself.” Genji chokes as his everything shakes in his arms. “I cannot bear to witness it.”

The king says nothing for several heartbeats. When he leans back, his breath ghosting over Genji’s neck, his eyes are wet with tears.

“And what is it you want, knight? Day in, day out, they ask of me, and I give it. What do you wish for, Lord Shimada?”

Their first kiss is warm and chaste, bracketed by his king’s tears.

Genji promises to the ancient hall and the gods above that his king will never cry again.

* * *

**Victorian AU (gen)**

It is improper what they do under the guise of secrecy, and tonight is no different. Zenyatta cannot hide, not even within the masquerade, his body, his cadence, his voice as familiar as Genji’s own hands.

He slips onto the ballroom floor, weaving between the other dancers, finding Zenyatta’s hands and synchronizing into the dance as easily as breathing. His partner’s smile is downright devious as they follow the steps, taking the lead as they spin.

“How forward, sir. My heart has already been claimed.” Zenyatta murmurs into his ear as he moves too close, brushing his thigh between Genji’s legs before they fall into proper step once more.

“And if I wish to steal you away?” Genji returns, squeezing Zenyatta’s hand, thumb dragging across the back of his palm. Suddenly they are close, the heat of each other’s mouths less than an inch apart.

“You may try.” Is the answer whispered against Genji’s lips.

* * *

**Centaur AU (gen)**

As soon as he sees that warm, clever smile across the waves of grass, Genji knows he is his. It didn’t matter his pedigree or clan, only that he would look his way, speak to him in deep, soft tones and lead him to whatever lands their shared life granted.

He drops to his knees, grasping his graceful, tawny hand, littered with callouses. The other’s amber eyes widen, and his ears twitch towards him, attentive, curious. Then he laughs, so beautiful a sound that Genji’s heart thunders in his chest.

“Be mine.” Genji says in a single breath, startling a rosy flush along the other’s freckled cheekbones.

“Yes,” he replies. “But perhaps we should exchange names first.”

* * *

**Rome AU (gen)**

Genji glares towards the elevated throne of the emperor. He cannot see him, but still he burns, infuriated.

He is no better than a slave, but he has scraped and bled and risen, defeated more opponents than anyone else, unstoppable and proud. In those moments of absolute victory, he is free.

His emperor mocks him. Genji’s opponent is marked by a grid of scars and robed in bright saffron, a foreigner whose only crime is the wrong religion. He is to make an example of him. Not a challenge, a slaughter.

The horn sounds, and the fight begins, his anger channeled into a roar as he rushes the monk. Genji will make it quick.

The monk side steps his attack, planting his leg beneath Genji’s feet. He stumbles, and the crowd erupts, just as surprised as Genji when it does not end in seconds.

It is the longest battle Genji has ever fought, his dark eyes flaring green at the monk’s smile as they grapple, using his energy against him, redirecting his blows to glance or miss completely.

Blood is let. Dirt and scrapes line them both as they close in on their body’s limits.

That’s when Genji sees his opening.

He swings and loses his blade, but the monk overcorrects, toppling them to the ground. The midday sun blinds him momentarily, a halo behind the monk’s head; their labored breathing fills the space between. For a second, neither moves.

Then Genji’s hand shoots up, calloused fingers locking around his dark, freckled throat, the surprise in those amber eyes loosening his hold.

Then the horn sounds again, both opponent’s attention stolen by the emperor, whose attendant, handsome and blue-eyed, addresses the crowd.

A draw, the man calls, and the crowd roars. The emperor is pleased by the fighting spirit of the gladiators, and grants them the honor of serving him another day.

They leave the arena, one angered, one silent, herded into a barred cart that Genji had only seen at a distance, gilded and intimidating.

One of the emperor’s litters. Warm eyes meet dark as monk and dragon take their seats, knowing not what the future will hold.

* * *

**Buddy Cop AU (drunk kissing/touching)**

They make a good team. Genji specializes in reconnaissance, adept at using shadows and gathering intel. Zenyatta, with his eerie amount of intuition, is a great conversationalist, and his gentle, unassuming form loosens people’s tongues. They both are incredible fighters, useful if they stumble into a situation in which neither stealth or words can help them.

It is one such night after they wrap up a case, tired but exhilarated, that they decide to celebrate.

Zenyatta, rare to drink, orders oil, and his junior cheers, ordering a drink of his own. They spend so much time together, an easy, comfortable match, so different than their early partnership. Genji, hot-headed with a chip on his shoulder, had hated this seemingly unfeeling and know-it-all omnic. Old shame bubbles in his chest, but its quickly ignored when Zenyatta laughs at his own joke, the oil making him more giggly than usual.

They have to lean on each other to stand, and Zenyatta’s lights flicker unsteadily as they exit the bar and enter the cool evening air.

“Oh, the last train is—”

“Don’t worry. My place is close.” Genji says, and they forget the problem, laughing and singing the Green Sentai opening as off key as possible as they walk down the street.

When they stumble into Genji’s apartment, a strange tension glazes over the haze of alcohol. Seeing Zenyatta in his space _does_ something to him, even as the omnic laughs, seemingly confused about his uniform buttons. His normally dexterous fingers struggle to undo the last of them, the cloth rumpled and exposing him from throat to stomach, all scuffed metal and delicate black inner workings.

Genji falls into him, giddy even as Zenyatta stumbles, his back hitting his kitchen counter. He’s way closer than he needs to be as he undoes the rest of Zenyatta’s shirt, tugging him out of the fabric with a victorious laugh.

“There.” He says, looking into Zenyatta’s array, blinking at how Zenyatta’s faceplate fogs with his own breath.

His lower body is flush with his partner’s, and as he wonders how it happened, temperature skyrocketing, Zenyatta’s hand settles on the small of his back, urging him closer.

Genji gasps, low and too heated.

“Is…is this ok?” Zenyatta whispers, synth wavering as Genji cants his hips, slotting them together in a way that cannot be mistaken for anything else.

“Y-yeah.” Genji breathes into his faceplate, lips warm and wet on gold chrome as he kisses him.

* * *

**Talon AU (brainwashing, angst, dubcon, mention of Talon/Zen)**

Zenyatta does not remember who he was before, or what was before. There is only now; there is only the organization and its leaders. Akande behind his back, biting his pistons as he rocks into him, his arm curled possessively around his waist. Reaper’s nanites whispering along hidden sensors, Widow’s dark, icy touch, as cold as his own. Moira’s nails, tugging his wires, testing, teasing. Sombra possessing his functions, playing to her heart’s content.

He does not remember, but when they bring in their newest acquisition, a man like him at first glance, chromed and bright, his core stutters for several nanoseconds.

“I want him.” Zenyatta says as grunts restrain the acquisition to an operating table while they watch through the one-way glass.

“Preposterous. I have multiple experiments—”

“I will allow it.” Akande says.

“The risk is too great. We already have a successful method for repurposing agents.”

“And is not this another experiment? To test how well your method holds true?”

Moira nods stiffly, simmering in her anger. They will have words later.

***

Zenyatta is the first to greet the acquisition, who struggles as soon as he sees him.

“Master! You are alive! I had thought…I could not feel your presence any longer…” His shoulders shake, crying, Zenyatta assumes, though his helmet reveals nothing. Organic, then.

“Master.” The omnic repeats with a hum. “You are astute, Shimada Genji. I shall be that to you from now on. You are to obey me always.”

The acquisition freezes, his voice cracking over his next words. “Who are you…What happened to Zenyatta?”

Zenyatta strokes his hand down his helmet, the ghost of sensation blooming along his processes.

“We are one in the same.” The acquisition’s warmth bleeds into his cold servos. “Come, Genji. Let us begin your first lesson.”

* * *

**Oni/Human!Sanzang AU (kidnapping, but enthusiastic sex)**

He thinks the monk will struggle, but as he sets him onto his bed of furs within his tent, he only watches Genji with thin amber eyes.

It’s obvious what Genji plans to do: he stole the monk in the night, spirited him to an intimate place that none would dare enter. He strips himself of armor, unafraid of any harm that the human could inflict upon him.

The monk should be trembling, begging for mercy with tears balanced in eyes that do not match his youthfulness.

Instead, as he teases clawed fingers between the slip of his robes and along his inner thigh, the monk shudders, almost too quiet to hear. With his arms bound behind him, his chest protrudes, his sleeves slipping down his shoulders without hands to tug them back into place. He fights every instinct to latch onto his dusky nipples barely concealed by the parting robes, mouth hungry for their shy peaks.

The monk tucks his chin into his shoulder, but he doesn’t cry, doesn’t even close his eyes, watches as Genji traces the tip of a claw along his fundoshi. He gasps when Genji grips him, pupils darkening as he tugs his smallclothes down his thighs and exposes his long, pretty cock, thick and wanting of him.

There is no cry of protest as he tugs his mask up to taste his prize, dipping his long tongue into his tight foreskin, as slightly bitter and warm as any red-blooded human. He indulges, sucking down his cock, loving how the monk trembles, but not for the reason he expects.

“You should be struggling.” The demon murmurs into his inner thigh, mouthing at the soft peach fuzz of his skin while the monk makes a sound that has Genji squeezing his thighs together.

“Would it please you?” The monk says, his first words, low and deep.

“I suppose I will have to try harder.” Genji replies, lips sealing around his cock once more.

 


	10. McCree/Zenyatta, implied sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: McCree/Zenyatta  
> Warnings: none, sexual tension?

The outlaw sits down in his seat. His first night in town, some unlucky soul had refused to vacate it. One brawl later, no one dared to sit there again. Zenyatta does not like violence, but he understands its necessity.

He always prepares the man’s drink in the same fashion, a whiskey neat, sweetened with honey. No one knows about it besides the omnic and the outlaw, and he would never tell.

“Thanks, darlin’,” The outlaw always says, always tries to brush their fingers together, metal on metal, as he takes his drink.

They chat about innocuous things at first, a familiar pattern, until one drink turns into another and the hour grows late.

“Now, what’ll it take to get you outta that uniform?” The outlaw drawls.

“Eternal love,” Zenyatta says. “Endless devotion.”

“I can make it feel like that for a night.” The outlaw replies, capturing Zenyatta’s wrist as he cleans the bar.

“So you always say.”

Yet this time, as the time before, his processors quicken at the offer. He glances around the room; the last occupant empties his pockets as he stumbles out the shuttered door.

Zenyatta rounds the bar counter as he cleans while the outlaw watches him like a hawk, the eyes of a killer, of a man who murders more men than his gun has bullets. The hand that wields the same gun slithers up the back of his thigh, cupping the swell of his ass as he leans over the bar, all pretense lost as a chirp escapes his synth. Zenyatta doesn’t stand up, not even when the outlaw’s shadow blocks out the dim overhead light, his belt buckle jingling as his hips flatten to Zenyatta’s back.

McCree makes good on his promise.


	11. McHanzo, Genyatta, homestuck AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairings: McHanzo, Genyatta  
> Warnings: fucking homestuck AU good lord

He stares at the troll digging through the ancient ruins, stares and seethes. He is little more than a rustblood and still he talks to Hanzo like they are equals. Familiar, jovial even. **  
**

Hanzo bites his tongue, bites it as it bleeds high blue blood because his brother, his moirail, has the audacity to _like_ the sloven troll in front of him.

They were near royalty once, respected. His brother’s fall has everything to do with him, and he feels responsible, especially now as he views his brother’s mostly metal body, blood gone lime with the operation, the tainting of their bloodline. Worse yet, his moirail has chosen a robot as a redmate, and it irritates Hanzo to no end.

Nothing gives him peace. He stares between the three of them, Zenyatta chatting with Genji as he lifts a huge piece of rubble like it’s paper, McCree whistling while he scoops large boulders from the ground in hopes of finding treasure.

“Hanzo, ya done brooding over there? Could use some help.”

“Do not speak to me.” Hanzo growls, angling his head down, pointing his twisted horns at McCree, who only laughs at the display.

“Look, I know yer feeling black fer me, but now’s not the time.”

Genji snorts while Zenyatta covers his mouth with a metallic hand, stifling his soft huff of laughter.

Hanzo dives at the rustblood, mind thrumming with rage, with boiling black lust for the idiot that had the gall to prod him when he is so close to tearing him limb from limb.

McCree stumbles but regains footing quickly, catching him with ease. He does little more than chuckle as Hanzo claws his arms, drawing thin lines of warm crimson liquid.

“If you were feeling so fiesty, you coulda just said somethin.”

Hanzo catches McCree’s arms in a vice, laps at the blood, tastes its coppery bite while McCree hisses, and the sacrifice is almost enough, vision returning to near normal. He is sated, for now.

Grudgingly, he helps McCree dig, if only to distract him from killing the troll where he stands.

He would not want to disappoint Genji by striking down his friend.


	12. Mob/Human!Zenyatta, rough, anon sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Mob/Human!Zenyatta  
> Warnings: rough, anonymous sex, **very nsfw art at end of chapter**

Zenyatta can’t believe he followed the stranger without a word, obeyed when ordered to strip as soon as the door creaked shut behind him.

With his shirt shakily unbuttoned, an appreciative grunt rings in the silence, the jingling of a belt from another corner just as shocking. In the dingy backroom of some forgotten bar in Gibraltar, men who don’t know him without his garb and the insignia of Overwatch stare with dark, hungry eyes.

Zenyatta swallows and continues to undress, hands clumsy over buttons he had easily clasped less than an hour ago. With the shambali, it was easier. They understood.

The stranger loses patience, tugs Zenyatta by his arm towards the bed, shucking his own jeans low to reveal a half-fattened cock peeking from a wild thatch of hair. The man clicks his tongue, working himself to full hardness as he clutches the monk, leering along his body.

It takes no time at all before he’s thick and red and pulling Zenyatta on top of him. The squish of lube comes a second before the cold chill of it smears between his thighs. Zenyatta licks his lips, nervous, so nervous, the gentle grunts of the others in the room burning hot in his ears. Touching themselves, working their cocks as they watch him shudder and twist on the rude finger wiggling between his cheeks.

A few perfunctory presses is all he gets before the man huffs, jostling Zenyatta forward so suddenly he nearly loses his balance. It should frighten him; the man slicks up his cock with a single stroke before the fleshy head nudges against his barely prepared opening. The monk spreads his thighs wide, quaking already, cock half hard even though he knows it will hurt. Knows, but still he whimpers as he’s breeched, ragged and pathetic, earning a laugh from the others. He doesn’t even know how many there are, only hears the smack and slide of skin, smells the tobacco and booze and sweat of them.

His ass finally meets the man’s hairy thighs, cock catching against the swell of his stomach. His mind pulses in time to the ache in his body. Full. Full. Full, at the cusp of breaking.

“Hurry up.” The stranger growls, and Zenyatta groans, lifting himself an inch, though the next thrust is little smoother than the first.

His protest dies as hard, calloused fingers seal around his forearms, forcing him down with a rough, bright smack. The pace is brutal, dragged along as the stranger fucks him open, quickfire thrusts that are means to an end with no thought to Zenyatta’s pleasure.

And that’s just it, isn’t it? In this dark place, he is a thing to be used, a hole to fill, interchangeable and faceless like the last eager slut looking to be bred up by the stranger’s seed.

His cock thickens embarrassingly fast, even against the pain, slapping the man’s gut, jeers and dirty insults that he’ll only remembers in his dreams. The man doesn’t let up, swearing under his breath, snapping his hips hard, pre-cum slicking Zenyatta enough so the motion’s smooth, bottoming out on each thrust.

In a facsimile of romance, Zenyatta comes just before the stranger, the pressure so intense it blackens his vision. He thinks he screams, eyes rolling back, the stranger’s cock scalding his insides. Zenyatta feels each throb fill him up while his own seed, copious and thick, coats the stranger’s stomach.

Laughter again, when he crumples forward. Zenyatta hisses weakly as the stranger tugs out of him, leaving him shivering on the bed while Zenyatta is still too dazed to move.

Another set of hands clutches his hips, larger, softer, forcing his ass high in the air. Zenyatta startles when a cock, much thicker than the first, begins to press inside.

“My turn.”

Art by [Kirinlust](http://kirinlust.tumblr.com)


	13. Doomyatta, Hidden AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Doomyatta (Top!Doomfist/Bottom!Human!Zenyatta)  
> Warnings: angst, genyatta pining/mention
> 
> Based off an AU of the Hidden AU. : ')

There are so many reasons not to do this. He is a shambali benefactor. He has numerous enemies, more-so if any knew of his particular... _affinity_ for one of their own. He lost his arm for supporting the cause, and still Zenyatta cannot shake the whispers of discord when he sees him staring at his new prosthetic with far off eyes, expression unreadable.

He wouldn’t even have to fight back, the faintest whisper of resistance would be enough for Akande to concede to his wishes.

Resisting is the last thing he wants to do, even when green hair and a sharp smile slip into his mind. He aches and grasps Akande’s neck, burrowing his face into his chest. Akande smiles against the side of his head, synthetic fingers tangling into the base of his braid, tugging the strands, grounding Zenyatta in the present as his other, smaller, flesh arm loops beneath his thighs and hefts. With the wall at his back and his feet dangling inches off the floor, Zenyatta’s helpless, wants to be, moaning into Akande’s neck and latching onto the pulsepoint that flutters beneath his teeth.

“You are needy today.”

Zenyatta’s face pounds with blood as he squirms at the words whispered into his throat, followed by a line of hot tongue catching his lobe, nipping his piercing, tugging sweet pops of pain-pleasure from his body. His fingers sink into the thick, muscled flesh of Akande’s neck, holding on as the man works his mouth down his ear and along his collarbone, nipping and sucking, just hard enough that Zenyatta struggles to keep quiet.

They aren’t exactly in private, sequestered into a spare room of the temple. Wrong wrong _wrong_ , anyone could catch them, but still he clings as Akande releases his hair and that treacherous hand plucks down his body, teasing his nipples. He rarely covered them, could always feel Akande’s eyes on the pudgy, shy peaks during their later acquaintance. At first he thought himself strange, but Akande had proven all together different in his intent.

“Are you okay?”

The question shakes him, even as metal traces down the divot of his waist, teasing the ghost of curls beneath his navel. Akande’s cock is a solid heat against his thigh, his own erection tenting his tattered pants in a way that would be comical at any other time.

Zenyatta swallows, nods, arches up to catch his cock against Akande’s hand, groaning and unable to look him in the eye.

Akande kisses his throat, sucking beneath his ear, a favorite spot, kiss marks stark against tawny skin. It’s hard to explain to Mondatta with no proper lover to be found, but he cannot find strength to protest, not when he stares at his reflection and admires the look of himself, claimed, branded for all to see. Someone cared enough to mark him up, leave evidence that they were there—

Sakura blossoms and the scent of fresh cotton rush from his mind as a hand descends on his cock, cupping him, tracing its straining outline.

“Please, Akande—” Zenyatta breathes into his throat, jerking at the faintest touch, the man’s gentle laughter in his ears.

“Anything for you.”

He chokes when Akande tugs the band of his pants away from his tepid stomach, each smooth slide of warm metal a pinpoint of pleasure nearly felt, nearly—

He cannot think of him now, in this new territory. Only Akande has seen his face twisted and cheeks mottled with deep shame and deeper desperation. Only he has felt his cock, stroked him from base to tip, worked fluttery, bright sounds from the depths of his synth, gone glitchy with his touches.

Zenyatta steams, cannot hold back the signals blipping on his HUD, Akande leaning back to study his face even though his hand never stops moving, milking him, no longer teasing.

“Ssh, I’ve got you. No games. Just let me make you feel good.”

Zenyatta nods over and over, eyes tight, so he shuts them, focuses on the hand upon him, Akande’s warm, comforting weight, his gentleness, kindness in spades that he did not deserve, not when—

He hiccups, sobbing into Akande’s neck with clicks and hisses, spilling over his metal fingers in explosive spurts, shaken down to his core. The omnic shudders through it, lulled by gentle whispers and soft praise into his skin.

Akande holds him for a while, until Zenyatta stops shaking, until exhaustion creeps into his body, replacing the nervous energy of earlier, when he had approached Akande and urged him into the vacant room.

As his warmth recedes, the hard line of Akande’s body leaving Zenyatta’s, he startles back to himself, hand unlatching from its grip on his neck and pressing just above Akande’s hips, so close to the thick shape of his barely contained cock.

“You do not have to do anything you do not wish.” Akande says, even and calm. He is giving Zenyatta an out. It is how Akande always is, endlessly patient, though he knows he is not the only person in Zenyatta’s heart.

“I want to.” Zenyatta breathes, heat pooling at the base of his spine.

He does what he wishes, hesitant, but with building confidence at the sound of Akande’s hiss through his teeth. The man brackets him against the wall, larger, stronger, but at his mercy as Zenyatta unzips his slacks and finds what has been aching for his touch since they’ve met.

Within the mountains, trapped by dogma and distance, it must be enough.


End file.
